


The last time I cried

by Anonymous



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Captivity, Crying, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Presumed Dead, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Six months after the war to take the Death Star plans and Cassian has settled into a different role helping to rebuild after the devstation of the Empire, everything seems to be improving until on day on his way home from work he finds someone thought long dead, Galen Erso.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Galen Erso, Galen Erso & Bodhi Rook, Galen Erso & Jyn Erso, Galen Erso/Orson Krennic
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	The last time I cried

Cassian waves goodbye to his colleagues and heads out. In the six months since the death star was destroyed he has been happy working with the clean up crews, helping to rebuild the worlds that the Empire dismantled. It was hard at first, he’d never been a builder before and his first few weeks had been simple fetching and carrying, heavy and hard work. He’d liked it, the hard work had been soothing and he’d gradually improved as a handyman. He’d enjoyed building his skills just as a talent rather than as something to add to his list of covers as a spy. 

He walks down the street, the same one he's lived on for the past five months, the longest he has lived in one place for years - possibly ever in his life.

He is walking along the street dodging the potholes and puddles, the drainage still hasn't been fixed, when he half hears something. Nothing definable but years and years as a spy have left their mark, and his instincts prickle at the mouth of an alley.

"Hello?" He calls, fully expecting to find a cat and to feel a little embarrassed but unable to keep walking in case it's serious. "Anyone there?" He dips between steps and picks up a large piece of wood that's lying on the ground. Edging into the alley he sees…. Nothing. Ruefully, he shakes his head and drops the log he'd just picked up and turns. A faint sound draws him back and he hesitates, this could well be a set up. There are a lot of poor, homeless people around. Most just want food and shelter and are polite and friendly, some are desperate and as the weather sinks towards winter have become aggressive. "Hello?" He tries again, talking another step forward. The change in position let's him see around the trash cans lining the wall of the alley; on the floor, in a slumped line, is a body.

He hesitates - just for a second - it's possible that this is a set up, despite the length of time it's been he was once one of the Empire’s most wanted. He still has some of his own wanted posters. He steps forward once the moment passes and he knows that he can’t in good conscience leave what could be a helpless civillan to their fate.

He approaches warily, just in case, and nudges the huddle on the floor with the tip of his boot. There is a soft huff of sound, just enough to let him know that the bundle is alive and not just a mannequin or, even worse, a corpse. 

“Hello?” he asks again, reaching down to roll the body onto his back. The body rolls limply out of shadow and into the dim light of the alley. The face is familiar, the bones stark and jutting. Cassian kneels on one knee and brushes the hair out of the other man's face to get a closer look.

“Stars-” he's so shocked he says it aloud, he's looking down into the face of a man that had been considered dead. A hero who had died during an attack on Eadu - Galen Erso.

  
  
  
  


He fumbles under the man's jaw, struggling to find the other man's pulse, struggling in a sudden panic to locate it. He can't find it and presses his fingers to the other side and has a moment of complete horror as he still can't find it - until, yes, there it is weak and thready but there, the other man is alive. He slides an arm under Galen’s back and the other under his knees and braces to lift, and almost staggers over when he does. Galen is much lighter than he'd been expecting and much lighter than he should be for his height.

Worry, barely tampered by the knowledge that Galen still lives, begins to increase again. The other man doesn't even stir as he's lifted, Cassian bites at his lower lip and holds Galen a little closer to his chest. 

He walks quickly back to his apartment, feeling nervous as he does so. Could there be an Imperial presence on the planet? Is so where? And if not, how did Galen come to be here?

He takes the elevator up to his floor and is hugely relieved when both the elevator and the corridor of his floor are totally clear. It takes a bit of shifting to get his door unlocked and open while not letting the limp body in his arms fall.

He lays Galen out on his sofa, breathing hard both from exertion and fear, and slides his fingers back under the older man's chin to find his pulse. It's still there, weak and thready as before, it's both comforting and alarming in equal measures.

He puts the heat on and cranks it up as high as it will go, before heading into his bedroom and pulling the blanket off his bed and tucking it around the unconscious body on his couch. 

Then he steps into the kitchen and pulls the door closed, it's made of darkened glass so he can still see Galen but it gives him a little privacy. He turns his comm-link on and heads back out to check that Galen is still breathing while it boots up. As soon as he can he comms Draven and stands anxiously drumming his fingers against the counter top until it connects.

“Hey,” he says as soon as he hears that it's connected, “it's me.”

“Cass.” Draven says, and it shouldn't make him homesick, he's not a kid, he's a spy and an adult, been in countless dangerous situations but somehow it does.

“Something happened,” he relies without preamble, and even to himself, his voice sounds gaspy and frightened, “I found Galen.”

“Erso?” Draven asks, sounding bewildered, as though he thinks Cassian might be calling to tell him he's seen one of the  _ hundreds _ of other Galens that they might know.

“Yes, him.”

There is a long pause, “ok, well, I’ll send a team to repatriate his body and I'll alert Jyn to the fact that her father’s body has been-”

“No, no,” he blurts, more aggressively than he meant to, “he’s still alive. Or he is right now.” He swallows and drags a hand over his face, “but he’s in rough shape, I mean, really rough. I wanted to take him to the hospital but....”

“If he’s appeared on that planet then he may have been dumped, and if he’s been dumped there may be Imperials around.” Draven muses, “but if they dumped him there...”

“He may have escaped.”

“True,” Draven says and Cassian can hear self-reproach in his voice that it had not occurred to him, a sign of how flustered this must have the usually unflappable man. “Where are you?”

“At my apartment.”

“Could anyone have followed you?”

“It’s not impossible, but I don’t think so.”

“Ok, ok, let me see.” Draven goes quiet and Cassian can hear the click-clack of keys being pressed and waits to hear what the news is. “Ok,” Draven says after a couple of minutes that feel much longer than they were, “so I have good news and bad news.”

“I mean, that is actually an improvement on what you normally have for me.” Cassian says, trying for humour and hoping that it doesn’t come across as petulant.

Draven huffs a soft laugh, so he thinks it probably landed the way he wanted, “Good news, I can get someone out to you to collect you both and bring you back home to one of the bases. Bad news, it’s going to take a few days. I’m going to need to make sure that you can be escorted, just in case this is a set-up, and I don’t think you should risk a hospital, Cass.”

“He’s really sick.”

Draven sighs, “I know, or at least, I believe you, but listen if this is a trap he will almost certainly be killed anyway and it could lead to the discovery of our people. Give him what help you can, bacta, water, food and just be with him. If he dies, then to be honest there is probably little else a hospital could have done for him. It won’t be your fault, Cassian. Do you hear me, it will not be your fault if he dies.”

“I hear you,” he replies, trying to keep the frustration from his voice, it’s not Draven’s fault and everything he’s said has been right. It’s everything that a leader should say, but it’s not what he wants to hear. Shoving down the feelings of frustration, anger and, if he’s being honest with himself, panic, he makes himself grin, knowing Draven will be able to hear it in his voice, “thanks, I’ll see you in a couple of days, ok?”

“No, I’m going to vid-call you in the morning. And we will be with you as soon as we can, I just can’t endanger everyone. Keep yourself safe, Cass, listen to me, take care of Galen, do your best for him. But if there comes a point where you need to choose, I want you to pick yourself. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.”

He hears Draven sigh and grimances a little, knowing that he’s made the other man feel badly about it, that Draven will worry now until Cassian is back on the base.

“Talk tomorrow,” he says trying to inject normallacy back into the conversation, wanting to end it on a higher note.

“Tomorrow.” Draven agrees.

They say their goodbyes and he cuts the connection before he can try and get Draven to stay on the line with him while he goes to check up on Galen.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself of what Draven had said, if Galen dies it won’t be his fault, but he needs to do everything he can to help the other man. He pulls the door open, to find Galen exactly where he left him.

The over head lighting washes any colour out of the other man's face and under the stronger lighting he looks even worse than Cassian had thought. 

He's skeletal. Cassian can see every bone in the other man's face, he could be used as an anatomical model. He's filthy too, Galen's hair is matted and dirty but surprisingly he's clean shaven. His face is grimy but his neck and ears are almost black with a thick layer of encrusted dirt.

He finds the other man's pulse again and rests his fingers against the other man's neck for a moment to reassure himself that the other still lives despite how much his eyes tell him otherwise.

"So, I'm Cassian." He tells the unconscious man, just in case any part of him is listening and needs some reassurance. "This must be scary for you, if I'm honest, it's pretty scary for me too. I'm a spy, I normally cause injuries, I don't heal them, I'm not a doctor." He has had first aid training though, it was very thorough and he shakes himself out of the shock of seeing someone he thought dead, someone who he'd felt a connection to due to Jyn, alive but so fragile. He runs his hands down the limp body first, searching for obvious breaks or injuries. 

Nothing.

He folds the blanket back from the other man's legs and picks at the knots in the left boot. They are mismatched, clearly not his, perhaps Galen did escape on his own after all. The lace comes undone and he tugs the boot off.

"Force!" He tells, almost falling over backwards and dropping the boot away from himself as though it had burned him. "Gods, sorry!" He knows that in all likelihood Galen cannot hear him, but he can't not say it. Not after he sees what he's managed to do by taking Galen's boot off. And talking most of the skin of Galen's left foot with it. 

He wants to call Draven and confess, let the other man soothe him, but he can't. He needs to do what he can to help Galen. If the other man dies, he needs to die with Cassian having done everything possible to help him. Not alone and abandoned. 

He gets to his feet and goes to get the first aid kit, he probably should have gotten it before he started but he'd let the lack of obvious blood lull him into thinking that Galen's problem was starvation and disease. He sets the kit down on his side table and moves, it all closer to the prone body, then returns to the bedroom to collect towels, sheets, soap and washcloth. Finally a plastic bowl and some trash bags from the kitchen and he's all set.

Kneeling back bedside the couch, he rolls a towel up into a bundle and places it under Galen's ankle to raise his foot off the couch. Keeping the raw flesh from touching anything. 

Then he sets to work, cleaning gently with antiseptic and water, adding bacta before wrapping the whole lot up in a thick layer of bandages.

He is much more careful with the other foot, cuts the laces out of the boot and opens it up as much as possible to slide it off as gently as he can. He manages to leave a little more skin on this foot. He repeats his ministrations, rolling a towel up to keep the foot from touching anything, cleaning, applying bacta and bandaging.

Sitting back on his heels, he balls his fists into the base of his spine and leans back to try and relieve the ache that is growing there, before looking at the clock. 

12:37 am. 

When did that happen? And how?

Sighing and looking back at the body on his couch he calculates how long this is going to take. Hours.

He gets to his feet, heads into the kitchen, leaves a message to tell his colleagues he won't be in in the morning. He splashes water on his face, then washes his hands thoroughly, before making a sandwich and forcing himself to eat. Part of looking after others is looking after yourself. He knows this, it's practically military training 101. It feels hard though. Very hard.

"Alright," he says aloud, once he's finished, "ok, you can do this, just go back and patch up anything that needs it, then clean the boots, if you leave them till the morning all the blood and -"

His dinner, measly as it had been, makes a reappearance, at the though of those boots and the wreckage of the feet inside them.

What is the rest of Galen's clothing hiding.

Selfishly, he doesn't want to find out, it feels too personal, too hard. 

He makes a cup of tea, and while it cools a little, he grabs a glass of water and swills his mouth out: rinsing away the taste of vomit.

He leans his back against the counter and tries to work out why this has unsettled him so much, tries to sort through the myriad of feelings he has over the situation - mostly guilt and worry. After a moment he shakes himself and heads back into his main room, steeling himself he tugs the blanket back down over Galen’s now bandaged feet and tucks it around to keep the heat in.

He gently pulls the blanket back from the other man’s chest and leaves it at his hips. Then sits back on his heels and looks, Galen is wearing a shirt with an undershirt - both are stained and worn, neither fit him. 

But both are blood free.

He presses gently on Galen’s belly, palpitating to test whether he may have internal bleeding. To his fairly inexperienced fingers he concludes that everything is where it should be and there is no sign of obvious pain from Galen - even unconscious.

Sighing, he pulls the blanket back up, wondering if he’s making the right choice - maybe he should strip Galen and make certain that the other man is not hiding any serious wounds? He runs his fingers over Galen’s skull, there are a few cuts and he has a few bruises but nothing that strikes him as inherently harmful. Lastly, he pulls the blankets away again and runs both hands down the other man’s legs, no signs of broken bones, no blood staining the rough material of his clothes.

Slightly reassured, although he has to admit that he was completely wrong about Galen’s feet and the other man could be similarly wounded under the rest of his clothes, he tucks the blanket back around the other man. 

He gets a glass of water from the kitchen and spends a relatively unproductive half hour trying to coax water down the unconscious man’s throat - wishing with every fiber of his being that he was able to take Galen to a hospital for proper medical care and a drip to hydrate him.

Its 3am by the time he’s finished and he thinks for a long moment about his bed, longs to just shut off the light and head to bed himself. But he can’t bring himself to, not knowing as he does how awful it is to wake up alone and confused in a strange place. 

He gets a second blanket, curls into his armchair and tries to get comfy.

A soft noise wakes him and he opens his eyes. Exhaustion hits him like a ton of bricks and for a moment he cannot remember why he isn’t sleeping in his own bed. Memory returns and he sits up, “Galen? Are you-” A blow lands on his jaw and he staggers from where he’d been getting up and almost falls. “Force! What -” In the half light that is coming in through the curtains, he watches as Galen swinging wildly, clearly disorientated, manages to land another punch. Due to the angle and the fact that it barely connects it doesn’t hurt but Galen folds over himself both hands clutching at his head as he does. “Woah!” he says, trying to sound soothing, it’s clear that Galen is pretty panicked and clearly something is wrong with his head. “Hey, it’s ok, my name is Cassian. I found you last night in an alleyway, just off 3rd Westen, opposite the grocery store, remember?” Galen is trembling and he has no idea if the other man is even listening to him, for lack of any better ideas of how to respond he continues. “I brought you back here, you weren’t conscious and given that you had been an ally of the rebel alliance it seemed unwise to leave -”

Galen goes absolutely still at the mention of the alliance, a good thing?

“The rebel alliance?” he tries again, hoping he’s doing the right thing, “I’m part of the alliance and-”

Galen folds into a weird slavish bow, hands clasped behind his back with his forehead pressed to the floor at Cassian’s feet. Shocked and disgusted, because why on earth is he doing that? who taught him that it was the appropriate response, ever, let alone now? Cassian takes advantage of Galen’s lack of visibility and puts a hand under his shoulders, tugging gently upwards.

“No, no, no, let’s not do that.” he tries hard not to let his voice sound harsh or as though he’s angry, reminding himself harshly that hysterics never helped anyone, calm compassion might. “Let’s sit up, see where you are, see what’s going on, see how incredibly handsome I am.” Galen blinks at him, like one of the characters from the shows he used to watch as a kid, “yeah, that’s probably the correct response to that.” He pauses, more to give himself a moment to figure out his next move than for Galen’s sake. “Alright, ok, are you going to try and hit me again?” Under his hands, Galen flinches, drawing into himself. “No, good, that’s good, I don’t want you to hit me, and I am not going to hit you either.” The look on Galen’s face is one of total disbelief, jaded and worn. “I’m not going to hit you either,” he repeats, despite knowing that it’s not going to do any good, words don’t help the abused, not at first anyway. Actions will provide proof enough and eventually the talking can begin. “Why don’t we get some breakfast? Are you hungry?”

Galen nods, once quick and sharp, without looking at him. Cassian feels his heart sink, Galen is acting like a man who’s given away a terrible secret, and begrudgingly at that, he’s telling the truth because he’s too afraid, too beaten not to. And he clearly expects Cassian to take advantage of his honesty.

“Alright, that’s good.” he repeats trying to sound soothing, and dear god above he’s going to need to find some more stock phrases to trot out, because he’s starting to irritate himself, “‘Cause, I’m hungry too, why don’t we go and get something to eat and we can discuss this some more?”

His heart sinks even further when the misery on Galen’s face melts into suspicion and terrible hope, it hurts to look at. 

“Come on,” he says getting to his feet slowly, and gently tugging Galen with him. It’s far too easy, the other man is way too light, “let’s go to the kitchen.” he keeps a gentle hold of Galen’s wrist as he leads the way, both to help direct the other man and also to try and get a reading of his pulse. Way too quick and still thready is the answer, jack-rabbiting under his fingertips. “Why don’t you take a seat while I make breakfast?” he asks, only to feel the pulse under his fingers quick up another notch. Too tired and wrought to figure out why that might be upsetting, he does a 180, “or you could help me cook.” He uses his free hand to tug a stool out from under the counter and pats the top of it, “why don’t you sit here.”

Eyeing it, as though it might come alive and bite him, Galen sinks down. 

Beside the stool, back into the weird bow from before, forehead pressed to the linoneum of the kitchen instead of the carpet of his living room.

“Ummm, it’ll be hard to help me from there,” he says, trying his absolute hardest not to sound upset, he is though, force alone knows how upset he is right now, “it will be easier if you sit up here. He tugs, just barely on the wrist he still has a hold of, until he’s managed to coax Galen back onto his feet and up onto the stool. “Comfy?” he asks, before hurrying on, the clenched jaw and wide frightened eyes, suggest that the other man is feeling anything but. “Right, oatmeal.” There is no response and the silence is getting to him, “it’s not the tastiest thing in the universe but it’ll do us both some good.” That and he knows from one first aid lecture or another that refeeding syndrome is a real worry in someone as emaciated as Galen. He bites his lip, the other man needs a hospital not oatmeal, but oatmeal and some sympathy are all he has to offer. Feeling the weight of his own inadequacies, he rummages under the stove for a pan before turning on one of the rings. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Galen clench his hands into fists before hiding them under his thighs. 

Internally cringing, he strives to maintain his air of calm. “Are you alright to help?” he asks, hoping it’s the right thing to do, but remembering from somewhere that when dealing with toddlers getting them to participate can lead to them being more amenable. And if it works on small emotionally unstable humans maybe it will help with larger ones? Galen nods anyway and he’s still sitting on his stool, not trying to bury his face in the floor, so Cassian chalks it up to a win and lets go of Galen to open one of the cupboard doors. He finds the carton of oats and sets it down on the counter. “One cup of oats to two cups of mi- water.” he corrects himself, diary probably isn’t a good starter food for someone who has until recently been starved, is it? No, probably not, and knowing his luck Galen will have an intolerance and will then believe that he is trying to poison him and never trust him again and will then proceed to starve to death in Cassian’s own kitchen- He cuts of the calamitous thoughts, things are bad enough without inviting the fates to make them worse. “Bring to the boil on the heat and keep stirring, I’ll get you a spoon.” He finds a wooden one and hands it over, watching out of the corner of an eye while he finds bowls, spoons and glasses. Just in case Galen starts beating himself over the head with it, or tries to put his hand on the stove or lies on the floor again. It is a surprisingly tense few minutes as the oatmeal cooks, he tries his hardest to come up with something that might sound friendly without coming across as uncaring, he half wonders if he should ask about whatever had happened. 

Just in case Galen dies, it would be prudent to get all the intel he can, but in the fragile peace of his kitchen he can’t bring himself to start asking the hard questions. 

The oatmeal has cooked into an unappetizing congealed blob in the bottom of the pan, and he forces himself to not wince as he gets bowls for them and divides up the oatmeal into two portions.

“Come on,” he offers, “let’s sit at the table and have this while it’s still hot.” He sets the dishes at the little table and drags the chair back at both spaces. He gestures for Galen to sit and manages to catch him under the arm when the other man makes to go and lie on the floor again. “Let’s both sit in our chairs while we eat, it’ll be much easier.” He manages to get Galen sitting in a chair at the table and to stay there while he takes his own seat.

He puts both glasses of water into the centre of the table between them and picks up his spoon and takes a bite. “Mhhh” he offers, “it’s pretty good.” he lies, it isn’t. He hates oatmeal and to be honest he’s a coffee only breakfast type of guy. But it had seemed rude to not eat with his guest.

He looks across the table to see Galen sitting, staring at his food, a look of pained wanting on his face. “That’s yours,” he tells the other man, “it is for you. Eat up.”

Galen looks at him and back at the food, but does not make a move to pick up his spoon.

“Can you hear me?” he asks, wondering, Galen has not said a single word that he can remember since he’s woken up. Galen’s eyes flicker towards him but he still doesn’t speak. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” More silence. “Can you not talk?” Still nothing. “Can you understand me?” he tries again, nodding helpfully. 

Galen nods back, and he freezes, is this simple imitation or does Galen understand?

“You understand?” he asks again but shaking his head again, there is a pause before Galen nods a second time. “And you don’t talk? Or can’t talk?” Galen’s eyes widen and he realises his mistake. “Sorry, one question at a time, right.” Galen nods tentatively. “Can you talk?"

Nothing - Galen doesn't move a muscle.

"Ok, can you hear me?"

Galen nods.

"Do you not know how to say 'no'?" He asks the nearly hits himself in the face at the look of total terror on Galen's face. "I, uh, I mean." He stumbles, "uh, for yes," he nods emphatically, "for no," he shakes his head possibly even more emphatically, "and if you're not sure about something," he holds his hand out flat and rocks it from side to side. He pauses wondering how on earth he has managed to traumatise Galen quite so quickly. "So, um, can you talk?" To his honest relief there is a small pause before Galen tentatively shakes his head. "Right, ok. Do you know why?" A longer pause, much longer until he has almost given up on any kind of response and then Galen extends a shaking hand and rocks it, once to the left and once to the right before hiding the hand back below the surface of the table. "Maybe? Ok, well let's think about it some more, huh? Let's finish up our breakfast first."

He has so much to do that for a moment he almost considers giving up and doing none of it, he shakes himself and checks the time - a little after six, no wonder he feels exhausted.

Galen picks up his spoon and with many nervous glances across at Cassian he puts it into the bowl and gathers a spoonful of the now mostly cold and congealed oatmeal. Cassian tries to keep his face open and friendly while inwardly wincing at what a poor reintroduction to solid food the oatmeal is. Galen pauses with the spoon about half an inch away from his mouth glancing at Cassian again unease written across his thin features.

"It's for you." Cassian says, wondering if he hadn't made that clear or if Galen is worried about being poisoned. He wishes desperately that he knew what had happened to the other man before he was found, it might prevent Cassian from making some kind of terrible mistake.

Relief flashes over Galen's face and he finally takes a bite of the oatmeal. The look of disgust that Cassian had been expecting doesn't appear as, instead, a look of bliss etches itself onto Galen's face. Another bite and Galen looks almost catatonic with the simple pleasure of feeding himself.

It hurts to look at him and Cassian wants to offer him some more food to keep that look on Galen’s face to allow him to keep that look of simple pleasure. It would be so easy but he knows that it would simply make Galen ill later on.

He stays quiet to not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that has settled in the kitchen. Once he has finished his own oatmeal he slides off his chair and walks over to the counter to make kaf before considering and putting the kaf down and making tea instead. Less stimulating, probably better for someone as ill as Galen.

“Here,” he offers placing it down on the table next to Galen where the older man is scraping his spoon around the edges of the bowl, “still hungry? We can have another snack in an hour or so, just let that settle.

Galen looks wary rather than pleased which isn't the response he'd been hoping for. Cassian ruthlessly shoves down a feeling of unhappiness,  _ less than a day _ , he reminds himself. Galen has been with him for less than a day and he can hardly expect the other man to trust him already. Not after what has happened to him. Not that Cassian knows what has happened to him but the overall look of Galen suggests little care was taken for him.

"We can both have a snack later." He repeats, trying to keep his voice neutral. "For now though, how about a bath? And I'd like to look at your feet again if that's alright?"

Galen bites his lip in a clear sign of anxiety and nods with the air of a man agreeing to be executed. 

"Ok," Cassian sighs, "bath first?"

At Galen's nod he leads the other man to the bathroom and turns on the light. Turning he notices Galen is hovering just outside the door, discomfort clear on his face.

"It's ok, you can come on in. I am not going to hurt you. I'll just show you where the towels are and leave you to it." Cassian says as soothingly as he can while opening the cupboard under the sink. "Towels." He announced pulling out the thickest, fluffiest ones he can lay his hands on, "toothbrush and a new sponge. All for you." He sets them.down on the edge of the counter and then smiles and retreats, closing the door gently behind him.

He goes back to the living room and pulls out the comm unit, then checks his watch, 6.24, so that means for Draven it will be..... Cassian sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair - too tired to figure it out. He dials, Draven will forgive him if it's very late or very early.

"Cassian!" Draven sounds wide awake and he picks up almost immediately as though he's been waiting for the call, "how is he?"

"Alive." Cassian rubs a hand across his face as his eyes burn with unexpected tears, "bad? I think? He has been starved, he was grateful for oatmeal."

"But alive." Draven replies and there is relief in his tone and the tight muscles of his face relax a bit. "That's a good start. Where is he?"

"In the bath. I.... He can't talk. He doesn't seem to remember a lot." His voice raises as though it's a question even though it really isn't.

"Well, you know, starvation can cause dementia like symptoms in sufferers, Cass. Not that I think a good meal will solve his problems but that could be a part of it."

"I don't know. Drav... His feet." He breaks off and swallows and the heat of his oatmeal crawling up his throat makes him have to stop or risk vomiting.

"Were they bad?"

"Very. I smothered them in bacta so they should be nearly healed by now but they were raw."

Draven winces. "And the rest of him?"

"I didn't undress him. Cowardly, I know. But I gave him a pat down to check for injuries and I didn't think there were any so I left him to sleep. I shouldn't have but I kept thinking about him waking up to find himself being stripped by a stranger."

"Terrifying."

"I was afraid too of what I'd find " he admits hoping suddenly that the other man will chastise him, he feels like he deserves it.

"Anyone would be."

Frustration rises. "You should be angry with me."

"And yet, I'm not."

A shuffle of movement draws his attention and he looks around to see Galen. Just as filthy as before. Still fully dressed.

"Galen, are you ok?"

There is a pause, then Galen extends one hand and timidly shakes it from side to side.

"Ok, what's wrong?" He asks before closing his eyes at his own stupidity, he has given Galen the barest tools to communicate with not enough to explain.

Galen looks frightened as this obviously occurs to him as well.

"I have to go," he tells Draven and can see from the look on Draven's face that he is shocked by Galen's appearance or demeanor, "I'll call you back."

"Yes, I'll speak to you later." Draven says, "remember what I told you yesterday."

Cassian nods and cuts the call, "ok," he offers to Galen hoping that the smile on his face is natural and not a grimace, "let's go."

Galen shuffles obediently after him and Cassian peers suspiciously at his feet - the bacta must not have healed them completely - he will need another dose. Inside the bathroom he sees that the water has not been run.

"Do you need help running the bath?" He asks, hoping that Galen won't see how desperately he is hoping that that isn't the case - one of the cleverest men in the universe cannot be flummoxed by faucets. He can't be.

Galen nods and Cassian has to bite back a sound of despair.

"Ok," he says, smiling the smile he hopes is friendly and soothing, "watch me." He reaches out and turns the faucet on letting the water flow.

Besides him Galen stares intently then nods once and Cassian can see him studying the scene with an analysts' gaze. Clearly noting down the process mentally.

_ Heartbreaking. _ He thinks.

"Ok," he repeats aloud, "so make sure that the faucet is more or less in the middle. Maybe a little to the left." He gestures in case Galen has forgotten left and right. "Too hot will hurt your injuries and too cold could make you unwell right now. Lukewarm, that's best for the next few days, ok?" Galen nods as solemnly as if it's an edict from a monarch, instead of bathing instructions. And possibly overly strict ones at that. "Ok, when the water gets to about.... Here... You should shut the water off like this." He demonstrates. "Right, now, dirty clothes in the hamper and I'll find you something clean to wear when you get out. When you're dry and dressed we can look at your feet again.

Galen looks down at his feet clearly confused as to why this would need to be scheduled.

Cassian heads to his bedroom and finds a pair of sweats and the oldest cotton shirt he has, worn and washed to softness, and takes them back to Galen and places them on the counter besides the towels. "Shampoo," he points at the bottle, "conditioner," he points at the next one, "cleanser and antiseptic scrub." He points at both in turn. "Ok, all set?"

Galen looks from the water to the bottles to the towels and then stands totally still. After a few long moments the blank expression on his face cracks into a look of dread.

"Ok, I'll get out of your way."

Galen twitches, then shuffles on his feet, and then shakes his head and points at the bath. There is absolute wretchedness in his eyes.

"Shall I go?" Cassian asks, too exhausted to try and puzzle out what Galen might want, "am I making you nervous?"

Galen shakes his head, then pauses and nervously rocks a hand.

Cassian blinks and translates in his head: don't go but you do make me nervous. "Do you need help?"

Galen pulls tighter in on himself and hangs his head lower. Then almost imperceptibly, he nods.

"Right, right, right, well, ok. Let's just.... Why don't you take off-" Galen's shoulder's tense and  _ fuck _ . Does that mean....? Probably, he reasons, what better way to hurt and frighten a captive without damaging them too badly. Fuck. "Your shirt and your trousers but keep your underwear on then get into the water."

Galen fumbles with the hem of his filthy shirt for a moment, then fumbles at the buttons.

"Can I help?"

Galen gives a single slow nod and Cassian can see the older man shaking. Galen's terror is palpable in the small room, Cassian can feel his own heart rate increasing to a panicked gallop in sympathy. He casts about for something, anything to say as he unbuttons the dirty shirt. "Work at the yard is going well of late," he offers eventually, "we have managed to patch up some of the sewage systems and that will really help to decrease the levels of sickness in the eastern quarters of the city." It's a stupid topic but Galen seems to be listening and he doesn't flinch too badly as Cassian eases the shirt off his shoulders. "Soon we will be able to start workin-" the words die on his tongue as he looks at the undershirt Galen is wearing. Grey and ragged, and bloodstained.

Large rust coloured stains mar the already ruined surface.

"Ok, well, let's leave that on too." He hears himself say from far away, "soak it off so it doesn't tug." He manages to sound calm and his hands don't shake too badly as he reaches out to touch the dirt entrusted fabric of Galen's jeans. "Do you think these will come off without sticking?"

Galen nods but Cassian has a nasty feeling he is saying that because he doesn't understand the question. He doesn't repeat it though, just reaches out and unsnaps the button and slides Galen's jeans down his legs. His bruised, bird like legs, there is not a scrap of fat on him, even the muscle is wasted, his knees are by far the thickest part of his legs. Cassian doesn't hold back a murmur of sympathy.

"Right, into the tub." He says gently, and it's only when Galen moves he realises the other man isn't wearing underpants. Only socks and the undershirt. 

And the socks are Cassian's.

And Galen's bare thighs and buttocks are striped with dark bands of bruising.

He bites his lip at the sight of them - bruising like that comes from being caned and must be very painful on such a thin body.

“In you get,” he coaxes hoping that the strain in his voice isn’t too obvious, “it shouldn’t be too hot.”

Galen clambers in like a baby bird, all angles and awkward movements and then settles down into the water. His skin goose bumps at the temperature and Cassian feels a frisson of worry, “is it too cold?”

Galen huddles in on himself but rocks his hand gamely. Cassian reaches over and adds more water, warmer this time, wary of scalding Gaelen but worried about him catching a chill too. “I’m gonna wash your hair, is that alright?”

Galen looks over his shoulder and then nods but his eyes are confused and Cassian has to fight the urge to sigh. Instead he makes himself smile gamely and leans to get the shower head attachment. He tests the water temperature before spraying gently at Galen's hair and rubbing gently at the matted chunks to try and break them up. When the whole lot is damp he switches the water to coming back out of the faucet making sure that Galen doesn't become too chilled, before taking a large palmful of shampoo. "Can you, please, lean your head back a bit? I don't want to get soap in your eyes." Galen's shoulders tense under the ratty undershirt the bones of them rising like a bird's wings and Cassian wishes he hadn't said that. Reminds himself to not say anything that Galen could mistake as threatening.... Which seems to be a lot of things. Galen haltingly tips his head back a little and Cassian is able to begin to run the soap into the matted mess. The bubbles turn dark immediately and whole chunks of dirt begin to come loose turning the water a dark brown. It'll all need replacing soon. Cassian keeps going gently massaging the soap in, noticing that the tension in Galen's body is beginning to leach out. The older man is sagging backwards in the water closer towards Cassian himself. Cassian scrubs a little harder and Galen makes a little sound in his throat at the pressure and Cassian almost pauses unsure if it's pain or pleasure. There is no further sound so he keeps going happy to see that some of the matted chunks of hair and beginning to seperate out a little.

"I'm going to need to change the water." He murmurs softly and to his surprise Galen flinches looking worried. "Don't worry, it's nothing and will just keep the water nice and warm and clean." He offers hoping that Galen will relax again. He pulls the plug and sets the water to run again while adding another dollop of shampoo and scrubbing around the back of Games neck and his ears in an effort to remove more of the dirt.

When the tub is about half full he switches the flow to the shower head and rinses the suds from Galen's hair.

Immediately the water turns brown with murk and he sighs to himself. He should have rinsed then run the bath again. He rinses Galen's hair thoughly then massages more soap through and rinses again before draining the bath and filling it once more.

"Right, let's get some conditioner on your hair then see if we can get your shirt off and clean any wounds and then take a look at your feet." He says into the silence and Galen nods. The list feels so long and he feels so tired, after they have looked at Galen's feet he needs to feed the other man and see if he can get to the store for supplies. He needs to call Draven back.

The list feels overwhelming and he shoves it away to concentrate on the here and now. He pours a large handful of conditioner into Galen's surprisingly grey-blonde hair. It had looked much darker under all the dirt and tries to smooth the conditioner in. It doesn't seem to do a lot, the hair is as damaged and thin as its owner and about as well cared for. He leaves the conditioner to sink in and reaches for a wash cloth. He pours shower gel onto it and hands it to Galen: who stares at it blankly.

"It's for cleaning." Cassian tells him, resolutely not being upset, not upset that one of the smartest men is currently huddled in his tub unable to figure out bathing. "Like this." He mimes scrubbing himself with the sponge.

Galen makes an attempt rubbing the cloth over his arm and Cassian picks up the sponge from next to the sink. 

"Can I help?"

Galen nods so Cassian kneels next to the tub and pours more shower gel onto it before leaning in to scrub at Galen's neck. He wets the undershirt as he does hoping to be able to ease the cloth away from Galen's body where the bloodied cloth has clearly stuck fast.

He sighs again then reaches across to root through the little basket of supplies until he comes up with scissors. The one good thing about being a spy, even a retired one, is that there are supplies everywhere. "Will it be ok to cut the mats out of your hair?"

Galen goes very still.

"You can do it?" Cassian offers holding out the scissors, "then cut the shirt," he touches it with one finger, "I'll go and make us both a drink if you like?"

Galen pauses the nods achingly slowly.

"Ok," Cassian says, "here are the scissors."

Galen looks at them, pauses, then shakes his head and gestures, a small tense movement, back at Cassian.

"I should do it?"

Galen nods.

Aware of the, frankly staggering, level of trust that is being displayed Cassian moves slowly and steadily with the scissors gently cutting the worst of the tangled, matted knots out of Galen's hair and leaving them on the side of the tub so the other man can see what he is doing. He will need to remember to clean them up later. When Galen's hair is done it's short and uneven but clean and tangle free. Without thinking Cassian smoothes a hand over it and almost flinches himself when Galen moves.

"Sorry," he blurts, "sorry."

Galen shrugs and gives him a look that Cassian can't identify. Kicking himself Cassian goes back to work cutting the undershirt off and peeling it away from Galen's body.

When he has finished he sits back on his heels and tries his best not to cry.  _ He _ shouldn't be crying.  _ He _ is not hurt. Yet it does hurt him, in his heart to see the absolute devastation of Galen's body that has been wrought by the hands of his captors. Galen is covered in wounds, old and new. Burns and scars and cuts overlap each other in a tapestry of pain and suffering. Some of the wounds are bleeding again and blood oozes sluggishly into the water and disperses into the water. Galen looks fascinated and swirls the water around to fix it faster.

The innocent little move is what breaks him and Cassian leans his head down onto the side of the bath and rests it there. Hiding his face as he weeps.

There is a scuffling sound and then wet cold fingers gingerly touch at his hair and Cassian takes a deep breath trying to stop himself crying and sit up. He must be frightening Galen and that is not acceptable.

He scrubs a hand over his face and sits up, "I'm alright," he croaks, "I'm ok." His eyes mist again at the sight of Galen's badly broken body and he has to force himself to temper himself. "Come on. Let's get you dried off and patched up."

Galen allows himself to be helped from the bath and seated on the closed lid of the toilet as Cassian drapes him in towels and gently rubs at his hair with another. "There, let's get you all dried off." Galen mostly sits still rather than actively helps the process but it's still easy enough for Cassian to dab at the moisture on his body rather than rub and risk rupturing any of the wounds that litter his body. He tries to avoid looking at the big picture, to avoid absorbing too much information as he begins to, gently, oh so gently, applying bacta then antiseptic cream to Galen's wounds. He tapes the larger ones shut and then covers them with an absorbent pad and covers the whole lot with an adhesive bandage. He keeps going trying not to let the horror of it hit him and failing when he realises that some of the wounds match up front to back and that a weapon must have been driven through Galen's body. He shudders unable to imagine the pain that Galen must have felt, awed that the other man survived it. He just keeps on smoothing bacta then cream then tape then bandages the wounds on and on until he is down to Galen's feet. Blood has soaked through the bandages which is concerning.

Hesitantly he peels the bandages back and then stares appaled at the minor amount of healing that has taken place, baffled and very worried but not wanting to show it to Galen. Instead he smothers more bacta, more cream and then covers them as best he can - adding non stick dressings to the list of things he needs to buy for Galen when he goes out shopping.

"Right, sweats." He says, feining cheer as he holds them out, before dropping to his knees and awkwardly threading Galen's legs through them before tugging them up and supporting Galen to his feet so the other man can pull them up. When they are at his waist, Cassian helps him tie the string to keep them from flopping back down around his ankles and hands Galen the shirt. Suddenly thankful that it's a button down. It will make the threat of reopening some of those wounds less likely if Galen doesn't have to put his hands above his head. He helps Galen to button it and Galen seems to struggle with any task unless directed minutely before helping Galen into his socks and half carrying him out into the bedroom.

Galen tenses when he sees the bed and Cassian half thinks to retreat and to let him sleep on the couch, but stops himself - Galen needs to sleep in a proper bed, a couch won't do his injuries any good at all, and he needs to prove to Galen that he is safe with Cassian. That nothing bad will happen to him  _ because _ of Cassian. He pulls the covers back and eases Galen down onto the mattress, hooking a hand under the other man's knees and lifting his legs onto the mattress.

Alarm sweeps over Galen's newly cleaned face and Cassian feels like a failure. "It's alright," he tells the older man in the most soothing tone he can manage through a throat that is tense with strain, "you need a nap and it's more comfortable here than the couch."

Galen freezes and his face looks very tense but Cassian has no choice but to let it go unless he wants to argue with the other man. 

"Try to stay in bed." He soothes, "it'll help you to get as much sleep as you can." He kneels beside the bed so that they are on the same eye level and says as calmly as he can, "I understand that this may be very hard, possibly even too hard, but I have to go out now to go to the store for groceries, please, don't go anywhere until I get back. I know I'm asking a lot and you are frightened and you don't know me at all but if you leave you might get caught by the Empire."

Galen goes rigid, his eyes wide and his face very, very pale. Cassian feels his heart sink and wants to feel guilty about frightening the other man, but he can't. It's the truth after all.

He tries to smile reassuringly and then walks away - because either Galen stays or he goes and there is nothing Cassian can do to persuade him.

He leaves the apartment and locks the door behind him, it unlocks from the inside so Galen can still leave if he wants to and sets off for the grocery store.


End file.
